Twelfth Night Snow
by TheWorldInBlue
Summary: "You have a soul, Ezio."  Chapter 1. Possible M rating for later chapters.
1. Chapter 1

_**Twelfth Night Snow**_

He rubbed translucent frost off of the glass in front of him. The cold collected on his fingers, seeped past the flesh, and into his bones. He didn't mind. With a smile, he cupped his hands and blew into them. The warmth did not compare to the roaring fire behind him, but he was grateful anyway. Grateful for his home, his fire, his hands—his life.

As he peered out into the cobbled streets, his eyes grew wide, attempting to capture the festivities with only his limited sight. At times like these, he really did feel as if he were blind. With so much to behold, who could use only the human eye?

"Amazing," he whispered, awed. "If only there were a way to contain such images, such moments, and reflect on them later…"

Yes, there was the mind.

But, even one's mind could not hold onto everything forever.

However, Leonardo knew at that moment, despite the fallibility of the mind and sight, that he would be able to recreate the invaluable scene before him, the night beyond price, the beautiful cobalt evening bestowed upon Venice that day.

It was all too dear to forget.

And there was one man exempt from it all…

"_Mio amico_?"

Ezio Auditore hoisted himself into the tranquil space of Leonardo's bedroom. Although, the area was more vacant than it was tranquil, which added into its supposed peacefulness, Ezio reasoned. The bed looked untouched, the curtains had been drawn (before Ezio's urging through them), and not a candle was lit. Only the waning glow from an early risen moon allowed the reaper to assess any signs of the inventor.

"Leonardo?" Ezio said again, a little louder. Another unnerving silence followed his inquiry. Ezio hoped that Leonardo had not accidentally caught fire to himself by falling asleep with his sleeve too near to a lit candle—it had happened once before, but Ezio had been there to prevent any injuries.

Ezio's wet boots trudged across the floorboards, leaving filmy footprints behind. He did this quietly, and with all the grace of one with his skill—but he could not stop his boots from squeaking as they left their place in search of another. He muttered to himself, cursing his boots and the dense snow outside. He descended down the stairs, heartbeat thrumming in his ears, matching the creak of the wood underneath him.

He went to call the name again, but before the syllables could leave, he spotted his friend, sitting dazedly in front of the window in his study. Inkblotted parchments and manuscripts were aflutter around him, seemingly started and stopped in a vicious cycle. Unfinished paintings lined the small room; his mediums gathered in a disconcerted heap on his desk. In his fire place were charred remains of—a blueprint? A sketch?

"Leonardo is _never_ satisfied with himself," Ezio thought, smiling. "_Amico_?"

Leonardo flinched in his seat, whipping dirty-blonde hair around to face the voice. A relaxed smile set itself on the lightly freckled face as he realized who had spoken. His eyes drew firstly to the small, oozing cut that marred Ezio's brow.

"Ezio—" he began, but stopped quickly. Instead, he laughed and rose from his seat.

"What?" The Assassin questioned, watching his friend immerse himself in chuckles. "Is it not enough that my feet are cold and my mind aches, but you must laugh at my troubles, too?" Ezio couldn't ignore the sparks of warmth that threatened at his heart as Leonardo laughed. To see those blue eyes crease in a smile had been more than enough to cheer him, lately.

"No, no, I only find it amusing that you come here almost every day with a different injury, yet you are always the same when I treat it."

"How do you know how I will react to this one?"

Leonardo gave Ezio a knowing look.

"_Assassini_ seem to be stoic creatures, but I think I might have found a weakness—_dottori._ That is to say, I am no doctor, but the treatment of wounds in general."

Ezio's heart twanged when he heard Leonardo refer to assassins as "creatures," but he let the thought go. He smiled.

"Perhaps you are right, _dottore._ Would you care to conduct another experiment?"

"It would only be of pleasure to me."

"_Figlio d'un—_

"I told you to stay still, or it will be more painful than necessary, but you rarely listen to my advice in these matters. You would do yourself a great favor if you did, you know," Leonardo commented, pulling clear thread through the shallow wound. "If this had been any closer to your temple, I would have said you were a dead man, Ezio."

"Well, perhaps I am already dead."

"What makes you say such things? You look clearly alive to me, my friend." Leonardo looked quizzically down at Ezio, blonde hair askew from furious work. "Is there a reason?" he pushed, after a hesitant quiet.

"Leonardo," Ezio began, brows knitted, "Men like myself kill on days like these. Days of celebration, joy and festivity! Who is it to say that men like me have souls? I could not believe it myself, if someone were to say it." Only after Ezio had finished his minute rant did he look back up into disappointed blue eyes, eyes that searched the soul that he believed he did not possess.

"You have a soul, Ezio."

Leonardo became quiet after that, as he finished the stitching on the wound. He sat again, afterward, in front of the window, but his silence was uneasy.

In all honesty, Ezio felt guilty. Something had unsettled his friend earlier, something about the statement. But Leonardo would not explain what. Ezio stared into the fire, eyelids drooping, exhausted from the day's activities. He slid his head back onto the velvet lounge that he had laid himself on, the lounge given to Leonardo by a grateful patron. He didn't want to sleep, didn't want to leave Leonardo alone with his thoughts and anxieties…

"Leonardo, what troubles you?" Ezio asked at last, after what seemed like an eternity. The artisan apprehensively paused before speaking, "Nothing. Please, go to sleep, Ezio. You are tired."

"Leonardo, do not attempt to hide your thoughts from me; I spend too much time in your presence to be so easily beguiled into thinking you are fine. Lines crease your brow in worry—tell me."

The blonde man turned in his chair, resting arms over the back of it. Ezio found something about the pose alluring, but he didn't dare speak it. Leonardo gave a loud sigh before speaking.

"Ezio, do you have proof that assassins do not have souls? Do you have proof that the human soul even exists, besides the Holy Book?" Ezio began to answer, but Leonardo held up a hand to silence him. "Let me finish. What of the deeds you have done? What of them? Yes, bloodshed, yes, death—but what for?"

"…To avenge the deaths of my brothers and father."

"To _avenge_," Leonardo said, rising from his chair. "Ezio, you are not a killer. You do not kill for pleasure, but not even you see this. You kill to avenge. The act is driven by personal grief, personal sorrows, not gratification. You killed on this day because you _needed_ to. Not because you _wanted _to. You…" Leonardo turned away, directing himself instead back to the window, a tired sigh escaping him. "Reflect, Ezio. You have more than enough days to do so."

"I am sorry, _mio_ _amico_, I did not mean to stir you so during a holiday."

Leonardo shook his head, dismissingly. "No, it is only fair that I do not dream the days away in front of frozen glass. I only wish that you would not speak so."

Ezio thought a moment, focusing on the mentioned window. The snow drifting lazily outside was therapeutic, in a way. He let himself be stilled by it.

**A/N: **I haven't gotten the chance to write anything in the past couple of weeks! With my exams (which I did quite well on!), Christmas, and the general holidays... Also, I've been trying to improve on my lack of drawing skills. I've been contemplating taking some sort of live model classes, or something like that, to improve my understanding of anatomy. This was just something I actually started well before Christmas, possibly in October, even, but I've been apathetic about writing, so I didn't really finish it. This'll definitely get finished sometime, and might possibly get a little hotter, we'll have to see! I hope everyone had a good holiday, and if by chance you don't celebrate any sort of holiday, I certainly hope you had a good couple of weeks!

**-TheWorldInBlue. **


	2. Chapter 2

_Chapter Two _

The following morning was, surprisingly, not one of awkwardness.

Then again, Ezio knew that the thoughtful inventor would not make things so for him—Leonardo cared much too deeply about him.

This was only one of many things that Ezio had begun to brood over recently.

Leonardo clasped his hands together, an excited smile appearing on his face. He peered around the doorway at a hunched over figure that was slumped arbitrarily over his study. The hood, of course, was pulled back, revealing dark locks that shone illustriously in the light of the new dawn that streamed in from the adjacent window. The white robes on the form were specked and mottled with a various assortment of blood, dirt, mud, and sweat.

Leonardo sighed, but kept the smile pinned on his face.

"Ezio?" The inventor called tentatively to his friend.

He was rewarded with an affirmative grunt—most of the time, these grunts were Ezio's way of saying,

"Yes? Wait, no, I just remembered that I was sleeping. Later, then."

But, the _artista_ would not let it go.

Leonardo padded quietly over to the soundly breathing Assassin. He, by no means, wanted to startle Ezio. He was, after all, a messenger of Death, in a sense. He wielded a number of sharp blades as well, which Leonardo knew well.

"Ezio, please wake up—this is rather important." Leonardo rapped his knuckles on the end of the table, hoping the vibrations would wake Ezio from his slumber.

Leonardo didn't enjoy waking Ezio up; he never would revel in something like it. Ezio was an Assassin, had seen many things that men should never see… When had he time for sleep? When was he not tormented by dreams with rivers of blood or anguished screams, or—

"Leo…nardo," Ezio croaked as he peeked open an eye. He rested his head sideways on his arms, in order to fully scan the inventor with his gaze. "_Buongiorno_, my friend. What troubles you?"

Ezio was always thinking about him; Leonardo felt a small twinge in his heart.

"Ah… You see," Leonardo began, "there is a matter I wanted to discuss with you—or, rather, something I would like to ask of you…"

"Ask, Leonardo. It is rare for me to turn down a request from you," Ezio murmured, eyes fluttering in a battle for sleep and attention. Leonardo felt even more guilty at that moment, depriving the Assassin of his sleep.

"I—I would like to know if you would attend tonight's ceremony with me."

Brown eyes finally opened in complete attention. Ezio slowly raised his head, a small smile coming to rest on his lips.

"You want me to accompany you? To the festival?"

"The Medici will be there, I thought maybe—

Ezio held up a hand to silence the inventor.

"If _you_ want me to go, Leonardo, then I will go for _you._ Not the Medici." Ezio pursed his lips for a moment, in thought. "Though, I am not too sure a man like me should be present at a festival of God—

"_Ezio,"_ Leonardo warned. "Do not test me."

Ezio smiled—and Leonardo felt like his body had been engulfed in flames.

Quite pleasurable flames.

"Do you want to borrow some of my clothes, so that you do not attract attention to yourself?" Leonardo asked, rummaging through the chest that held his clothing. "I am not sure of what will fit you; you have become quite a broad man…" The latter part was more of a whisper to himself.

"You are kind, Leonardo, but I will take my chances. It would not be the first time I have gone out like this."

Leonardo smiled sympathetically. "Alright, my friend. Though, I _would_ like you to enjoy yourself while we are there. It would be of no use to either of us if you spent your time brooding in a dark corner somewhere." Midway through fastening his robes, Ezio raised his head, with a look that seemed suspiciously like a pout.

"I don't brood over guards…"

Leonardo chuckled.

"Of course not, Ezio."

"I hope I am dressed well enough for the festivities—it is rare for me to go out like this…" Leonardo murmured; he fussed with the soon-to-be fraying hem on the inside of his doublet. It really was quite beautiful; the blue dye was so close to being the dazzling color of his own eyes—but that wasn't Leonardo's own thinking.

"You look quite dashing, if I must say so." Ezio spoke, reclining in a nearby chair, one boot on, the other somewhere behind him. "If you need further reassurance, I think we might be late." Ezio grinned; the artist in front of him reddened.

"Yes, but I don't want to appear lax about it. The _Medici_ attend the ceremony, Ezio. Everyone in _Venezia_ will don their finest attire; I would hate to undermine the celebration with—

"Leonardo, you look _fine_," Ezio sighed, exasperated. "You remind me much of Claudia, you know. Always preening over herself." Ezio ignored the artist's ruffled feathers, but still grinning, said, "If it is the women you are worried over, then I will just have to give you some advice when we arrive."

"_Oh_?" Leonardo quirked an eyebrow. "_You_ will give me advice, on _women_?"

Ezio, searching for his other boot, called back, "Certainly! It is obvious to me, in the years that I have known you, that you have never been very good with women—you are always alone here. It would be rude of me to not offer my dearest friend some counsel."

It was best for Ezio to be turned around, Leonardo thought. Currently, he was doubled over in laughter.

"You believe I am always alone, because I am _not good with_ women?" Leonardo inquired. "Is that the only reason you can think of, Ezio?"

"What other reason could there be? I know it is not easy to accept, Leonardo. That is why I am offering my help. I may even have to be careful; I don't want to attract the _unnecessary_ attention of women while I am teaching you." Ezio stood, gesturing to the door. "Shall we leave? I think it is more than important that we begin these lessons immediately, or you will forever be a bachelor!"

"If you say so, Ezio..." Leonardo held up a finger, suddenly. "But, promise me one thing."

"Yes?"

"These "lessons" are free of charge?" Ezio feigned indignation.

"Would I _ever_ charge you for _my_ help, _mio amico_? Just pay close attention, and let me do the rest. In no time, you will have women fighting over you." Ezio pushed open the door; he left.

Leonardo shook his head.

"Ezio, I don't know what you have planned," he muttered, "but, it better have a decent purpose."

And, like all (read here: most) of Ezio's plans, it _did _have a purpose.


End file.
